The Banquet of Life
by FluffyGonzalez
Summary: In which Light's notebook deals something other than death and apples aren't the only thing to be consumed. Updates once a week.
1. Marinade

**A/N: This fic attempts to track the consequences of a minor change in Death Note's initial conditions. Here are the rules for the fic, for those interested in that aspect of the narrative:**

**1. Updates on weekends.  
****2. No premeditated plot; effect follows cause until events have reached their natural culmination.  
****3. No commitment to characterization except that which arises in the course of events.  
****4. No commitment to genre.**

**As you can probably tell from the rules, there's an experimental component to this. As such, your reviews help improve the experiment. Without reviews, you run the risk of letting the experiment become a hideous monster that lurches to your village and eats your children. Food for thought.**

**- Gonzalez**

* * *

The human mind tends to take its surroundings for granted. You must be forgiven this behavior—it's impractical to rediscover the world each moment. Instead, it allows you to notice the novelties in your environment. A holdover. A survival trait.

Light didn't notice the classroom anymore. The teacher, too, was no surprise. Nor did the lesson stir him from his complacency. So the rhythm continued. The day inched forward.

Within the stillness of his boring life, he strained against the confines of his own mind. He watched the world around him move in slow motion and knew that anything he achieved would be utterly without meaning. He measured the complexity of his soul against the simplicity of the world and all but despaired.

But he continued with the life that he knew he was never meant to have. Perhaps some part of him was asleep. Or perhaps he was simply waiting.

He sat in suspended animation in the classroom. Then, out of the corner of his eye, movement. He looked in time to notice something drop from the sky. A bird? It didn't matter. It wasn't on the schedule, and thus was worthy of investigation.

Class was far from over, the rhythm of Light's life droning its fatally slow beat. But somehow the world was a little more exciting for containing unidentified falling objects. If Light didn't have his dignity, he would have drummed his fingers with impatience. But he was Light Yagami, and Light Yagami did not drum his fingers. Light Yagami, legendary student, waited coolly with the patience of a cat. So he sat through the lesson with hardly a change of expression. But he felt the temptation to break character just this once. Just this once.

He did not hurry as class ended. He did not rush to the door. He did not leap down the stairs. He did not admit to himself that he would have liked to do all of these things. But nevertheless, he reached the place where the object should have fallen. And behold, there it was. He lifted it gingerly, and read the title with disbelief. He cracked open the cover.

_Is it some sort of practical joke?_ he wondered. _A prank on the number one student? Who would think of something like this? What the hell were they even thinking?_

He was Light Yagami, and Light Yagami did not fall for tasteless practical jokes. He was going to toss the thing away in disgust. He anticipated the inertia as his arm flung it. He visualized it flying into the bushes, pages flapping like the hundred wings of an odd and very confused bird. He imagined the sound of pages in the air, the sound of paper against leaves. He realized that he had slipped it into his bag while he daydreamed.

Nothing for it now. If he took it out again, then it would look like he changed his mind. That would imply that he had made a mistake, and Light Yagami didn't make mistakes. Without glancing to see if anyone was watching, he grasped at whatever poise he could muster (which, even in his befuddled state, was a sizable amount of poise relative to the average person, inasmuch as poise is quantifiable). He stalked from the scene of the prank.

Self-controlled as he was, he was unable to deny passage to a lone traitor of a thought:

_A Food Note? As in, a notebook of food? Seriously?_

* * *

**FOOD NOTE**

_HOW TO USE IT_

* The human whose name is written in this note shall eat.

* This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.

* If the type of food is written within 40 seconds of writing the person's name, it will happen.

* If the type of food is not specified, the person will simply eat the first food they can find.

* After writing the type of food, details of the meal should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.

* * *

Light stared blankly at the inside cover.

"What." He continued to stare.

The cupcake at the top of the page was staring back at him. Wait, no, he mustn't think like that. Mustn't doubt his sanity. That was undoubtedly what they intended here.

_Who's 'they,' Light?_ he asked himself. _Paranoia and mental stability are terrible bedfellows. They secretly smear each other's toothbrushes with their disease-ridden socks._

But what if he took the Food Note at its word? What if it was real?

He stopped himself. Firstly, it was against all probability that such a thing would exist. Secondly, there was no reason for such a thing _to_ exist. If anyone had the sort of mind control technology to make this thing operate, they wouldn't waste it on specifically gustatory functions. Thirdly, even if it was real, Light had no business with it. He wasn't about to start messing with people's heads. He had no desire to control minds. He…who was he kidding?

* * *

"I'm going to do this scientifically," he muttered to himself. "I am not insane. I am simply testing a hypothesis."

(He reflected that if you had to reassure yourself you were not insane, you should probably re-evaluate your confidence in that particular proposition).

He strolled through the city, looking for something he could use to test the Food Note. Preferably a situation where a successful test wouldn't draw any attention to it. After all, on the incredibly small chance that the Food Note wasn't a hoax, he wouldn't want anyone to know about it. The last thing he wanted was a visit from the suits and a suddenly smaller total of notebooks.

True, the chances of success were infinitesimal. But from the description of the notebook's mechanics, it was possible he would be able to deliver any meal anywhere. He could end world hunger with a bit of lateral thinking. Though the chances were infinitesimal, the benefits were limitless. He was ethically bound to try, at least.

As he walked, the sound of speech caught his ear. He followed the sound to an alley, where he saw a homeless man in animated conversation—complete with frenetic hand gestures, a lively back-and-forth dynamic, and a general air of the profound benevolently unveiled—with himself.

_Bingo_.

He scanned the surrounding area and noted a manga store. Casually, as if it had been the object of his stroll the entire time, he crossed the street and entered. He withdrew the Food Note from his bag and slid it into an open manga book. Now he just had to hope no one asked why he was writing on the merchandise.

Right. He didn't know the hobo's name. He could always just ask, but it was too obvious. He couldn't be too involved.

"I told ya, Obito Kamazaki," Light heard from the alley, "I told ya they's out there. They's controlling your mind from outer space."

_Ah._ Light thought. _Luck is on my side. Or possibly the Illuminati. No! That way madness lies!_

He hesitated a moment, and wrote the hobo's name in the notebook. Nothing happened.

_Did I spell it the wrong way?_

He looked over the name. He was about to generate a mental list of alternate spellings when he noticed the hobo had stopped talking. Light looked up and saw the hobo digging through a trash can.

_Ew. So I guess the Food Note isn't limited to gourmet food. Or he just got hungry and this was a total coincidence. I need more tests._

One test was hardly statistically significant. As a rational human being, he had a duty to discard the hypothesis should the evidence fail to support it. And when that moment inevitably arrived, he was definitely going to acknowledge it without bias clouding his judgement. Honestly.

He was startled out of his reverie by a feminine shriek. He looked up to see a woman being cornered by a group of thugs who clearly did not intend a nice dinner and a movie.

Light was painfully aware of every second that passed.

_I need to stop this_, Light thought. _I could confront them directly._ He immediately dismissed the option.

_What tools do I have?_ he asked himself, and unconsciously glanced at the notebook in his hands. He knew what he had to do.

"Please stop this!" the woman shouted. "Someone help!"

"Don't you know who I am?" asked the lead thug, and then foolishly told her.

_Gotcha._

No chances here. Light blazed through every alternate spelling he could think of, and proceeded to write each one with the man's face front and center in his mind. After each spelling, he added the terse details that would save the victim from her hopeless situation.

"Filled with remorse," they read. "Eats nearest garbage."

It wasn't a rigorously derived conclusion, nor a cleverly designed test. It was electric, adrenaline-powered intuition and if it worked he was going to seriously doubt his sanity. And for a moment of ethically dubious elation, it looked like his sanity would remain only mildly questionable. But then the leader yelled to stop the molestation. Light watched him burst into tears and, between sobs, apologize to the woman while his erstwhile buddies stood by in utter shock. He should have watched in disbelief as the man ran to join the hobo, but by the time it happened he had already accepted the facts.

* * *

***** THE FACTS *****

1. The Food Note was real.  
2. Light was going to Statistics Hell.

* * *

**_Postscript: I'd like to do commentary on the fic, but not everyone wants to read that stuff. So I set up a blog for the no doubt fascinating reflection on what went into this mess. You can find the relevant link on my author profile._**


	2. Preheat

**A/N: I was especially productive this weekend in spite of spending most of it airborne. So this update is a week early.**

**A reminder that commentary on the chapter is available from the link under my author profile.**

* * *

An outside observer would think the student with the rather dignified stride was calm to the point of boredom. Something in the precision of each step, or the way the eyes took everything in but didn't seem to care.

You've already guessed that the aura of calm was a facade. Light found himself filled with an irresistible energy. Minutes ago time had poured through his fingers almost too quickly for him to keep up. Now the deluge had coagulated, and every second was a paradise of infinite possibility. There was a valve inside him that had been loosened, and some irresponsible cousin to joy was bubbling up his throat. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to dance. But he also wanted to remain inconspicuous, so he channeled that strange and wonderful energy into the rhythm of his feet.

He was in a state of heightened awareness, noting the face and demeanor of each passerby. Were they starving? Could he save them? Or, came the darker, subtler question, could he save someone else by making them eat garbage? He noted without effort the tactical details of the surrounding area—hiding places, vantage points, garbage cans. But the thing that burned deepest in this strange state of consciousness was the presence of the notebook in his bag. He tried to imagine its exact orientation, the angle at which it lay against his binder. He thought of the smooth black leather and the beautiful, ridiculous title in the darkness of the bag. It took all of his self-control not to reach into the bag and feel it, feel the reality of it.

He did nothing so pedestrian as question whether it was all just a dream. He had experienced the undeniable evidence with his own senses.

He wondered, however, if this is what it felt like to be drunk on power.

* * *

"Where did you go, Light?" asked his mother as he walked towards his room.

"I thought I'd go for a walk. You know, mix it up a little," he replied brightly.

"That sounds like a smart choice," said his mother. "Saiyu wanted you to help her with homework when you got back."

"In a second," Light called, already halfway up the stairs.

He closed the door to his room. He carefully set his bag on the floor next to the desk. He calmly walked to his bed, then shoved his face into his pillow and laughed uncontrollably.

The Food Note was a powerful tool. Likely the most powerful tool to ever fall into the hands of a champion of good. Light could end wars at diplomatic banquets. He could fix government policies over tea time. He could even provide food to the starving, although that was a pretty uninspired use of the treasure sitting in his book bag.

And he could send criminals running for the nearest trash can. Hell, he could use the Food Note to schedule their first meal in prison.

_I can fix everything_, he thought. _All the problems of the world. And I should take care not to develop a god complex about this, but I feel normal. I'm too sane for that sort of thing._

While he helped Saiyu with her math homework, he ran calculations of a different kind. He began a mental catalogue of everything he'd ever tagged as requiring a genius solution for the betterment of the human race. He identified the weak points of the problems—researchers having lunch, philosophers having dinner, software engineers having unhealthy snacks in the dead of night. His brain excitedly spat out the conclusion. He could save everyone.

"You did that one wrong," Saiyu pointed.

Light inwardly cursed. "I was just checking to see if you were paying attention," he said, adding just the right amount of tease and banter to his voice. "Sounds like you can do this on your own now. If you need anything else, I'll be in my room." He made good his escape from the false numbers staring from the wrinkled graph paper.

* * *

Light turned on the TV, then took out his homework and spread it across the desk. Then he took a blank sheet of paper and laid it on top of the homework. He wasn't going to do his homework tonight, of course—he had already completed the entire week's coursework. However, anyone who barged into the room would see him bent over his schoolwork, deep in thought.

His pen carefully printed "Humanity's Problems" at the top of the page. Anyone who accidentally stumbled across it would assume it was for a school project or something. He drew a perfectly straight line down the middle of the page, then labeled both columns in neat kanji: "Problems" on the left; "Who Can Solve Them" on the right.

Without pause for reflection, he began writing in the Problems column.

* * *

***** LIGHT'S INITIAL LIST OF PROBLEMS *****

1. Death

2. Disease

3. Hunger? No, **Scarcity**

4. War

5. Stupidity

6.

* * *

After a pause, he scratched out the number 5 and wrote a 0 next to it. He sat in contemplation for a moment. As his focus slackened, other things began to filter into his consciousness.

"…the hostages include 2 teachers and 14 students. The police have not received a list of demands…"

He glanced at the television. He remembered the alley by the manga shop. In the blank spot after the number 6, he added another problem: "Crime."

If the report gave any biographic information on the criminal, Light could save those hostages. He could bring justice to an unjust situation. The results were unquestionably good and, moreover, they were immediate.

He reached into his bag. The tips of his fingers felt the cool leather of the Food Note. Slowly, reverently, eyes still glued to the screen, he opened the Note to its first page. He spun his pen once or twice.

Waiting.

He considered what he knew of the justice system and quickly calculated the amount of time it would take for the kidnapper to end up in prison. That gave him a date. He fixed it in his mind.

Waiting.

Then, at last, like the kiss of a particularly well-researched angel, the kidnapper's name and face came onscreen. The reporter listed off his previous crimes. Light's laughter escaped his self-control and burst into the room with all the subtlety of a flamethrower.

_Damned by the sins of his past_, he thought with a mental smile to replace the real smile he had carefully wiped off his face. _Korou Otoharada, Justice has come for you._

* * *

_Research Journal_

_Day 1_

I will begin by noting that the most important part of this project is the absolute need for secrecy. If the project is discovered, it will be taken from me. After all, no one in any position of authority would trust a student with the sort of potential this project can create. I don't blame them—after all, I wouldn't trust a student with this thing either. However, while I know I can be trusted, I don't know whether any particular authority figure could be. Governments are beholden to more than just the greatest good, after all. Thus, I have created stringent security measures to prevent this journal from falling into the wrong hands and exposing my project. I will not go into detail in case this entry is decrypted.

Initial tests have been reassuring. It appears that I have more or less complete control of the actions of the target before they eat the meal. It is currently unknown what determines how long targets continue eating after the device is used. I have not tested the ability of the device to control actions after the meal. The device has demonstrated the ability to induce extreme emotional change, in addition to seeming thought control.

_(N.B. on this last—targets have demonstrated thoughts in congruence with the actions the device has required them to do. However, there have been studies where subjects without a corpus collosum are given instructions on one side of the brain, but construct rationalizations from the other side of the brain when questioned about their actions. It is possible a similar dynamic might be at work here. In any case, I do not find the evidence strong enough to support total thought control at this point in time.)_

The device's default setting (i.e. where no additional information is given) is much less discriminating than I originally surmised. It is unknown whether the food preferences of the target come into play here, or exactly what qualifies as food.

I have given some thought to the origins of the device, and must admit I am somewhat apprehensive. I have been unable to determine how it works. In fact, I have failed to find any sort of workings whatsoever. My tentative postulation is that the device somehow infiltrates the brain through the centers that deal with hunger. If I am correct, this device might be the prototype for a more sophisticated mind control device—possibly even one in use by some world power. I am a sane and rational individual, so I will not entertain the possibility of the Illuminati being involved.

An alternate hypothesis is that the device is connected by some form of quantum entanglement to a control center with the requisite technology to create the effects I have observed. However, I lack the resources to test this hypothesis.

I also lack the equipment to properly analyze the device. I should really test it for harmful radiation and other health risks.

This concludes the summary of my progress to date. Additional tests are in order.

* * *

_Additional tests are in order_.

If anything, that was an understatement. The Food Note was swamped in questions. The unknowns blotted out the few things Light actually knew. There were things that it was necessary to know that he wouldn't be able to find out. But he ignored the things

Light began his tests slowly. One by one, criminals began turning themselves in to the police. He altered the conditions slightly each time. The second day, he had an arsonist hand-deliver a written confession. The third day, a robber abandoned his hold-up to open the nearest package of food and eat the whole thing. It was obvious to Light what had happened—he'd written that the man would get shot before eating his prison food, so the note had glitched and defaulted to the base operation.

On the fourth day, Light found a convict who had escaped from prison. He simultaneously scheduled a robbery and its peaceful resolution. On his way home from school that day, he noted the commotion in a nearby grocery store. He checked his watch. Right on schedule. He felt a twinge of conscience here, as he had technically caused the robbery in order to resolve it. But these were tests that would save humanity. He pushed the feeling aside.

On the fifth day, Light's test was interrupted by a grating voice in his room.

"Looks like you're enjoying it."

Light stiffened. The painful exhilaration of adrenaline coursed through his limbs and his gut. But he did not turn around to face the speaker, instead resuming his description of the circumstances of the meal. The test completed, he set down the pen and turned to face the speaker.

He got as far as the demonic clown face over his shoulder before he screamed and fell out of his chair.

The phrase "goth clown" jumped to his flighty mind. He should have been calculating probabilities and avenues of escape, but his animal brain swamped his faculties in terror. Here was the calamity that all living things fear. And it was grinning at him.

_Shinigami_, he thought. _Well, shit_.

"Why so surprised?" asked the abomination. "I'm Ryuk, owner of the Food Note. Seems you've realized that ain't no normal notebook."

"What are you doing here?" asked Light, breathing heavily. His eyes frantically searched every corner of the room. He had to get out of here.

"As long as you're carrying that thing, I'm going to follow you around," chuckled Ryuk.

Light unsteadily stood up, and glanced at the Note. A large part of him wanted to fling it out the window right now.

"And if I'm not carrying it around?" asked Light.

"If you give it up, I'll take it and erase your memories," said Ryuk. "But don't make me do that. I'm bored."

Light stood immobilized, an animal ready to flee. He looked at Ryuk and back at the Food Note, trying to weigh his options. Was it worth attracting the attention of a shinigami to save the human race? Well, put like that, of course it was. But if only he could explain that to his hindbrain.

"What do I have to do for you to keep using the notebook?" Light asked carefully.

"Nothing," Ryuk said cheerily. "Once it falls to the human world, that's where it belongs. It's yours."

"You just said you were the owner," Light noted.

"We've got a bond, human to shinigami," said Ryuk. When the creature pronounced the word, Light felt a chill. "Before you die, I will write your last meal. And as a user of the notebook, you can't go to Heaven or Hell. That's our contract."

_The fact that he's talking about Heaven and Hell makes the afterlife more probable than I assumed,_ thought Light. _Then again, if there is no afterlife, he's still technically correct._

Pursuing a different thought, Light asked, "You'll write my last meal? How will you know when that is?"

"I can see how much time you've got left," came the grating voice. Light stifled a sympathetic urge to clear his throat.

"How long have I got?" he asked, the terror of the shinigami coming back into focus.

He received only a laugh in response.

"On a more practical note, then. I'm not going to get very far with you hanging around me. I might as well run naked through the streets waving the Food Note around."

Ryuk leapt out the window and flew to a nearby lamp post. Light started to shout, but noticed that no one was reacting to Ryuk's presence.

"I get it. We've got a bond," said Light.

The shinigami's facial expression didn't change, but Light got the impression it was pleased.

* * *

_Research Journal_

_Day 5_

During the course of my tests, I made contact with the owner of the device. While I had not given serious consideration to this hypothesis before, I now have sufficient reason to believe the device is supernatural in origin. Naturally, this means that many of my assumptions simply do not apply. I have endeavored to re-evaluate my tests in light of this new discovery, but have been unable to detect any discrepancies. Simply put, the Note appears to have consistent rules, and as my tests to date have focused on defining edge cases in relation to those rules, I have little reason to suspect them invalid.

The owner has put to rest any fears that possession of the Note is harmful, except psychologically. But as a rationalist, I believe I am more than sufficiently equipped to handle those harms.

I asked Ryuk a few questions about

* * *

Light frowned, deleted the sentence, and started over.

* * *

The owner has indicated that my grasp of the device's principles is correct as far as he knows. Given that he has never seen a serious need for experimentation, it is likely that my comprehension of the device exceeds his own. I have seen no further need to question him about the device's workings. Although it may seem irrational to simply wave its miraculous effects away with a question-begging hypothesis like "It just works," the brute fact of the matter is that I have no ground on which to pursue study of a supernatural artifact. For the present, the important matter is that it works.

Having reached what I believe to be a sufficient level of competence with the device, I am beginning to plan the next phase of my project. Terrible as it may seem, I find myself gravitating towards the problem of crime when tens of thousands die of hunger every day. But this is easily explainable, as solving most problems only requires me to use the Food Note to instill a sufficient level of inspiration in key experts, whereas the problem of crime can only be solved through lateral thinking and clever application of the Food Note. Thus, it's no surprise I

* * *

"Hey, Light," Ryuk interrupted. "Aren't you going to call it 'the device' like you normally do?"

Light glared over his shoulder at the shinigami.

"Who taught you to read?" he snapped, and edited the offending paragraph. The mistake vanished from history.

* * *

The Angel, they called him. Savior of the innocent. Bane of the criminal. One by one, the guilty turned themselves in. They revealed their hidden stashes or the location of evidence previously unnoticed. Each of them met their fateful lunch appointment.

Light spent every spare moment researching. The early targets had been easy to pick out—if he managed to obtain their names during the robbery, he could easily end the crime on the spot (taking care to hide the Note from curious onlookers). But as the scope of his project grew, he began to target criminals whose information was available but who had escaped justice. Light brought justice to them.

Every time a criminal turned themselves in, the legend of the Angel grew by that much. Light even began to see criminals who fled to police custody of their own accord rather than face the artificial conscience of the Angel. But the legend remained a conspiracy theory. Beyond law and outlaw circles, plus the odd website, the Angel remained unknown.

Regardless of the Angel's notoriety, Light had left a mark on the country. The data was there for anyone to see: prison populations were rising, crime was falling, and the police were happier than ever. But only one person thought to actually run the tests.

He was thin, with wildly unkempt hair and posture that would make a governess cry. He sat silently as his analysis programs churned through the reports. Numbers were produced and compared against each other. He checked the result: positive. The Angel was real, and it was controlling Japan's criminals.

"Watari," he said.

"Yes, L?" came the reply through the computer speakers.

"The new trend in Japan is statistically significant. Contact Interpol. Someone is out there, and they're performing coercion on a massive scale. We must bring them to justice."


	3. Hors d'Oeuvres

**Much like the fight scene between Yoda and Palpatine at the end of Revenge of the Sith, this chapter took too long to happen and was shorter than I would prefer. Unfortunately, the next couple weeks will likely see similar unpredictability. However, never fear! I write best when I****'****m supposed to be doing something else!**

**Remember, you can view commentary on the chapter by following the link under my author profile.**

* * *

"Ryuk, how many pages does this thing have?" Light asked.

"Now why would you want to know that?" chuckled the shinigami.

"If I'm running against a time limit, I'd prefer to know sooner rather than later," said Light.

The shinigami's eyes glittered, and Light was suddenly reminded that he was running against an entirely different sort of time limit. "Count them," came the inscrutable reply.

_What a waste of time_, Light thought. Rather than count them by hand, he flipped ten pages and eyeballed the fraction of the notebook they represented. He was still uncertain, so he flipped another ten pages. So that calculated out to…

"A hundred and sixty pages," he concluded. "Which gives me 320 pages if I count both sides."

The resulting laugh from the shinigami hardly filled him with confidence. He turned back to the notebook.

He turned ten more pages. With his other hand, he grabbed a pen and made a tally mark. He did it again. And again. Soon he was getting into a rhythm.

Except he didn't seem to be getting anywhere. He glanced over at his list of tally marks and two revelations hit him simultaneously: the Food Note had an infinite number of pages, and he was going to have to find a way to clean pen off his desk.

* * *

Ryuk watched Light flip through the Note. "I can reach the end if I'm not going page by page," Light mumbled. "But I can open to a random place in the Note, too."

Seeing as Light was occupied, Ryuk snuck out through the wall. He floated downstairs. As soon as he came through the other wall, he heard noises coming from the living room. He wandered over to investigate, and found Light's sister playing a video game.

"Whatcha doing?" he said conversationally. She didn't respond.

"Are you winning?" he asked. He watched the screen and tried to figure out what was going on. Her character was running around a washed-out battlefield, occasionally gunning other characters down. Ryuk was impressed by how quickly she aimed the little dot thingy in the middle of the screen onto the other characters' heads, but after a few minutes of this, he grew bored and wandered off in search of an apple.

He found himself in the kitchen. He checked the counter, but no luck. He found the pantry and gave it a once-over. Nothing. In a moment of inspiration, he looked under the kitchen chairs, but was disappointed. He stuck his head into what turned out to be the dishwasher, then pulled it back out twice as quickly. Gingerly, he tried the same thing on several cupboards, and while he wasn't greeted by rushing hot water, he also found no apples.

"What kind of family lives without apples?" he sighed. He looked over to the living room. Suddenly, Ryuk had a brilliant idea. He took out the other Food Note, the one he had conned out of the King.

_Saiyu Yagami_, he wrote. _Eats an apple. Leaves the cupboard door open._

He was rewarded when Saiyu dropped the controller and rushed over to the kitchen, apparently taking advantage of her character's death. Her socked feet slid to a halt on the kitchen tiles. She threw a cupboard door open (_But I checked that one!_ Ryuk thought) and grabbed an apple from a bowl of fruit. At this point, the noises from her game resumed, so she dashed back to the couch, apple in hand. Ryuk let out a laugh of victory, and reached into the bowl for an apple.

If he were human, he would have frowned. But the grin on his face was the only facial expression he was capable of. Even so, a keen observer might have noticed a subtle downward tug on the corners of his mouth. He gazed in despair at his victorious enemy—the architect of his defeat—the fountain of misery and discontent—the fruit bowl containing only bananas and oranges.

He gaped at the apple that was glued by adrenaline-fueled suction force to Saiyu's mouth as she single-handedly took down the enemy team. He glanced at his entry in the Food Note, and back at the fruit bowl.

_She took the last one_, he thought, dumbfounded.

_She took._

_The last._

_One._

The unearthly wail that filled the Yagami household spoke of lost hopes and broken dreams.

* * *

Saiyu couldn't hear anything Ryuk did, but as the sound passed over her she shuddered involuntarily, distracting her enough that the sniper on the other team got a headshot on her.

Light _could_ hear the sound, and he fell out of his chair and curled into a fetal position.

* * *

Light slammed the door and threw his overstuffed backpack on the ground. He unzipped it and yanked out the newly-bought bag of apples. This he threw with all possible force at the cringing shinigami.

"There," he snarled. "Now, in the future, you will _tell_ me when you want apples, and I will _get_ them for you."

"I'm sorry!" Ryuk whimpered.

"And if you _ever_ do that thing again—"

"Sorry!"

"—I will _personally_ gift the Food Note to a toddler as a _coloring book_, and you will be so bored that the Shinigami Realm will seem like _Las Vegas_. Do I make myself clear?"

"Got it," Ryuk said through a mouthful off apple. Light glared at him, trying to figure out if he was smirking.

"God," Light muttered in exasperation, and Ryuk was unsure if it was an exclamation or a prayer. "I need minions for this sort of crap." A thought seemed to strike him. "Actually, minions would be a good idea."

"What do you mean?" asked Ryuk.

"Expanding my operation would allow for a greater number of criminals to be punished," said Light.

"You're willing to share your power so easily?" asked Ryuk.

Light laughed. "Hardly. But it would help to have more grunts doing the research for me." He spun his chair around and entered his password in a quick clatter of keystrokes. Ryuk watched curiously.

"Look at this," Light pointed. "They're calling me the Angel."

Ryuk seemed to find this hilarious for some reason. Light scowled and continued reading.

"It—" he began, and stopped as a realization hit him. "My god. I have fansites." He shook his head and continued his earlier thought. "It seems that there's already a substantial amount of support for the Angel. People like the idea that justice can finally hunt down criminals who could evade mere humans. It feels good to know God's on your side, you know?"

"Not really," said Ryuk.

"Shut up," Light snapped.

* * *

"I'm going to be out of the country for a few days," Soichiro Yagami told the family as they sat down to dinner. "I'm being sent to an Interpol conference in France."

"What's that about?" Light asked carefully.

"It's about this Angel character that's been getting criminals arrested," Soichiro answered.

"You mean they don't support the Angel?" Light said. He could have fidgeted, but he considered such behavior beneath him.

"You of all people should know it's not that simple," his father sighed. "Everyone thinks it's a good thing to bring criminals to justice. But without due process, we can't know if we're actually doing justice."

"I'd think the fact that the Angel targeted them would prove that they were guilty," Light insisted, perhaps a little too loudly. The rational part of his mind noted distantly that he was too invested in this conversation, and maybe his family had noticed the way he seemed overly committed to this line of thought.

"It doesn't prove anything, Light," Soichiro said harshly. "The Angel could also target innocent people and force them to confess to crimes. We couldn't tell the difference."

_I know I__'__m right, but I have no way to convince him_, Light thought. _Telling him at this point would be extremely foolish, given his views of the Angel. He__'__ll come around eventually._

"Ah. I see," he said in a conciliatory tone.

Soichiro smiled and nodded proudly at his son.

* * *

"Who's L?" Matsuda asked the Chief.

"He's a detective," said the Chief. "The best. Shh."

L came onto the screen at the front of the lecture hall. Actually, to be precise, the _letter_ L came onto the screen. The interface was mostly minimalistic—single black letter on white background—except for the overly fancy font used to display the L.

"Hello," spoke an electronically distorted voice to the assembly. "I have analyzed the the case data from Japan, and concluded that the Angel really does exist. There exists a person or persons unknown responsible for the wide-scale manipulation of criminals."

Soichiro couldn't tell who, but someone started to clap. A wave of applause began to sweep the room.

"Stop!" L commanded. "This is not a good thing."

"Why not?" came a shout from the audience.

"The criminal known as Angel has not affiliated with any known law enforcement agency," L began. "We have no guarantee that they have not also manipulated others. Politicians. Stock brokers. Policemen." He paused. "Perhaps even us. Gentlemen, we have no way to be sure."

(Perhaps L thought that the women in the audience actually did have a way to be sure, but they were miffed all the same.)

"In pursuit of this hypothesis, I paid the owner of a Japanese grocery store to stage a hold-up, hoping for answers. Unexpectedly, during the fake holdup, the police actually arrested the fake thief. He was tried and sentenced and found himself in jail within the span of a couple weeks. We're still working to get him out."

The sound of murmuring rose from the audience.

"What's even more surprising about this outcome is that the police were warned beforehand that he was not a real criminal."

There would be no more applause for the Angel that evening.

* * *

Thus it was that an unsuspecting Light returned home one day and turned on the television, Food Note at the ready. His father was on his way home from the conference—if Light had been a bit more cautious, then perhaps he might have seen what was coming. But in Light's mind, there was no need for caution. He was untraceable. He left no evidence. He—

"We interrupt this broadcast for a special announcement," came the announcement. Light raised an eyebrow.

"Greetings," said a well-dressed young man onscreen. Light thought he looked slightly familiar. He had probably seen him during his criminal research. "My name is Lind L. Taylor, and I represent a certain interest group. I am here to present a message to the personage known as the 'Angel' on behalf of that interest group."

Light watched calmly, face betraying nothing.

"Angle, we find that your activities run counter to our interests. So this is our first, and hopefully last, message to you. Give up your activities and we will reward you. Cease the manipulation of citizens. In return, we will not attempt any sort of force."

"Are you serious?" Light asked the screen. "You're threatening me?"

The screen did not reply. Ryuk was chuckling as usual.

"What is this, some sort of mafia threat?" Light continued. "Look," he said to Ryuk, "if they had any clue where I was or who I am, they wouldn't bother with a sort of wide-reaching message like this. The fact that they've resorted to this method means I can act with impunity."

He grinned viciously. "So I will. All of Japan will see the Angel bring justice down on the fool who dared challenge him."

His pen danced across the page, following the rote movements that had become so familiar over the past weeks. Prison food in two and a half weeks. Lind L. Taylor continued to give details about how to turn himself in, which Light noted was ironic given which of the two would actually be turning themselves in.

Suddenly Taylor stopped, staring at something offscreen and looking shocked.

"Cut the cameras!" came an authoritative-sounding command, but of course the cameras kept rolling. A man in a police uniform strode onscreen as another policeman began cuffing Taylor.

"Lind L. Taylor, you are under arrest as an accessory to bribery, assault, conspiracy to…"

Light smiled as the list of charges rolled on, then abruptly snapped to a scowl as the scene was replaced by a white screen with a single ridiculous L in the middle.

"Tell me, Angel, what did you know about Lind L. Taylor?" asked an electronically distorted voice. "Because Lind L. Taylor was no criminal. He runs a bakery, and recently appeared on the reality television show _Hottest Pastries_. The police ran a background check on him and found nothing on his record."

"No," gasped Light. "No, no, please no."

"I should introduce myself. My name is L, and I am one of the world's greatest detectives. I have been tasked with finding you and bringing you to justice for you crimes."

This was all going so wrong.

"By the way, the interest group he mentioned was, in fact, the police. We had a squad on hand in case you tried anything. Thanks for that, by the way. You've revealed just about everything."

_Except my location_, Light thought, trying to find a silver lining somewhere. A thought hit him. _Oh god. Unless__—_

"On that note, this special broadcast was only shown in the Kantou region of Japan. So thanks for that as well."

Light threw down the Food Note and violently pushed off his desk, his rolling chair spinning slightly and almost smashing his legs into his bed. He tried to jerk his legs out of the way, but doing so spun the chair around faster and made him lose his balance. He had a brief moment of regret about not buying a rolling chair with armrests, then impacted on the hardwood floor.

After the pain, the first thing he noticed was that Ryuk was laughing at him.

"Damn you, L," he grunted.

* * *

Somewhere in the world—in a well-furnished room, surrounded both by the toys and trinkets of an eccentric childhood and by important evidence pieces of previous conquests—they sat across from each other: one young, poorly groomed, poorly postured, and rich; the other old, genteel, warm, and richer.

They raised their glasses and toasted the first winning battle of a sure-to-be-victorious campaign.


End file.
